An Unsuspected Meeting
by AlexCraigWrites
Summary: 2016 reboot, one-shot. When Mac & Jack get injured while disarming a bomb, they're taken to San Antonio Memorial, and meet new friends with multiple things in common. I'm sorry about the crappy summary, but I'm sick and my hand hurts.


**Ayo, my very wonderful readers.**

 **first off: I'M VERY SORRY I'VE BEEN COMPLETELY DARK THESE LAST FEW MONTHS. I'm terrible. Partially because my** **mind does mot like schedules, or organization, or, you know, _actually_ posting. But it was the summer, and I thought I'd write more, and then I started and finished like five multi-season shows in like two months. And then school started, and eighth grade is kicking my ass, and when I'm not busy with that, I'm reading and staying current with said five shows. I've really only posted this because I'm sick, bored, and have been watching TV all day.**

 **Pretty sure I'm caught up now.**

 **And yes, I'm in middle school.**

 **And probably a bit ADD.**

 ***ahem* ANYWAY, I'm sorry. I might have an update for some stories tomorrow. Or new stuff, knowing me and the two dozen other unpublished stories I have on my drive.**

 **P.S: if this sucks, I'm sorry. I wrote this on a 14 hour road trip, half asleep and nursing a broken toe. I edited this while sick, tired, and bored.**

 **P.P.S: If you actually read this entire thing, you now know random trivia about me. You deserve a cookie.**

 **P.P.P.S: Happy Dia de Los Muertos, Halloween, or whatever you celebrate!**

 **NEWSFLASH: I don't own MacGyver or The Night Shift, shockingly enough.**

 **And _now_ you can read my one-shot.**

"Mac! _Mac!_ " A familiar voice called.

Ignoring the ringing in my ears, I opened my eyes and tried to sit up, but a hand pushed me back down. I was in the back of what appeared to be an ambulance, with Jack and an unfamiliar woman leaning over me.

"Sir," the woman said, "my name's Gwen. I'm a paramedic. Do you know what happened?"

"My bomb," I muttered. "My bomb went off."

" _Your_ bomb, sir?" The lady, Gwen, said, with a hint of alarm creeping in her voice.

"No, no!" Jack cut in. "He didn't make it. He was trying to disarm it."

"You guys just _happened_ across a bomb?" Gwen said challengingly. Of course, she was right. We didn't happen across it. Matty sent us to investigate a mafia-involved crime uptake. But she couldn't know that.

"Yeah," Jack said in the same challenging tone. "Pure luck, I guess."

"You happened across a bomb, set it off, and it was _pure luck_?"

Jack let out a low chuckle. "No, no, you see, my friend here is an ex-EOD tech. He's trained for those kind of situations."

"EOD?" Gwen said, her interest piqued. "He's an army vet, then?"

"Hey, I'm one, too!" Jack said defensively. "Well, I'm no EOD, of course. Just a regular ol' soldier."

Gwen directed her next question at me. "Why in the _world_ were you disarming a bomb? Why didn't you call 911?"

I didn't trust myself to speak, so I just shrugged. _Great answer, Mac,_ I thought, _a little gestural "why not?"_

"He can't help himself," Jack said. "He sees a bomb, he'll disarm it."

Gwen smiled. "I have a friend like that. But not an EOD tech. He works at the hospital I'm taking you to." She looked directly at Jack. Or, well, his hand. I'd only just noticed that his thumb hung at an odd angle. "You, too, sir."

I attempted to sit up again, and this time she let me. My head was throbbing like the devil. I let out an involuntary groan. "You probably have a concussion, and your friend's thumb is broken and/or dislocated. You guys are lucky you didn't have any severe injuries." Gwen stopped. "I didn't catch your guys' names, did I?"

Jack and I locked eyes. We were always cautious of giving our names, our real ones anyway, but it was just a paramedic. Besides, we were going to an ER. They were going to find out our real names anyway.

"I'm Jack Dalton, and this is my buddy Mac."

"Just Mac?"

I sighed. "Angus MacGyver," I said.

"Like the cow?" Gwen pursed her lips. "I see why you prefer Mac, Mac."

Jack snorted, and I glared at him. "How long until we get to the hospital?" I asked, not-so-subtly changing the subject.

Gwen glanced out the window. "We're here, actually. Welcome to the San Antonio Memorial Hospital."

The back doors opened. "Can you walk, Mac, or do you want a wheelchair?" Gwen asked.

"Nah, I'm good." With Jack's support, I hopped out of the ambulance, following Gwen.

As we walked through the doors, a man and a woman walked up to us, the man Asian with black hair, and the woman with long dark hair and a mole on her chin.

"Gwen, we got your call. These are the two guys from the bomb site?" The woman said.

"Yeah. This is Mac and Jack. They were trying to disable the bomb. Thankfully, no one else was hurt. Jack's thumb is likely broken and/or dislocated, and Mac took a hit to the head from the concussive force of the blast." Gwen said. "You guys got them?" They both nodded. "Cool. I'm out."

The man took charge. "Okay, Krista, you take Jack and get his thumb checked out. I've got Mac."

"Got it." The woman, Krista, smiled.

After they left, the man turned to me. "Okay, kid, I'm Dr. Topher Zia, and I'm gonna check out your head, alright?" I nodded, and he smiled. "What's your name, kid?"

"Angus MacGyver, Dr. Zia."

The man, Dr. Zia, nodded and started walking. "A'ight. We're gonna go get a check and a scan or two, to make sure you don't have—"

"—A TBI." I finished for him.

"You a doctor?" The doctor asked, curiosity seeping into his voice.

"Oh, no, no. I was in the Army, EOD." I cracked a smile. "I couldn't sit still long enough to be a doc."

The doctor smiled, too. "I was a doctor in the Army, too. Quite a few of us staff are vets, too." He stopped and frowned. "You didn't try to disarm that bomb, did you?"

"Of course I tried, sir." Knowing the man served automatically triggered me to call him 'sir'. "I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't try."

Dr. Zia chuckled. "You're like my friend, a doctor here."

"That's what the paramedic was saying," I said. "I'm gonna have to meet this guy. What's his name?"

"TC. He won't step away from his patients no matter what. Isn't that what landed you here? Well, with a bomb, not a patient." He stopped and pulled open a curtain. "We're here."

He continued to to exam my head for a concussion, and ordered an exam; "Just to be safe," he said.

After the scan, while I was sitting outside, waiting for the Phoenix to give us a ride, Jack came to sit with me, sporting a new cast for his thumb.

"I don't get it," Jack whined, "I break my thumb, and I get this big-ass cast."

"You didn't _just_ break your thumb," I explained exasperatedly. "You dislocated it, along with nearly separating it from your hand." Jack opened his mouth to whine some more, but I shushed him. "Don't think I couldn't hear you crying out in pain. You were _literally_ three rooms down."

"Hey now, I wasn't _crying_ out in pain." Jack defended himself. "Daltons don't cry. I was merely… _vocalizing_ my displeasure about popping my thumb back in place."

I snorted, shaking my head, when Dr. Zia walked up to us, holding a chart.

"So, Mac, it seems, by some miracle, you didn't get a TBI _or_ any kind of concussion." He stopped, his face as blank as a new white-board. "I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?"

"We were debating on whether or not Jack cried out in pain when they were setting his thumb." I said, sensing where that was going.

"There's no shame in crying out in pain," the doctor said.

"But…" I continued.

"But, there was a definite 'vocalization of displeasure' to be heard." He cracked a grin, and I cracked up.

"Great, great," Jack said. "Yes, please mock my pain. I'm in real pain here, y'all!"

"Yeah, Jack, we get it." I said.

"Well, now that Mac's scans checked out, you guys can go." Dr. Zia said. We got up, and he started walking us to the exit. "Just try to avoid any strenuous activity for at least a week, alright, Mac?" I nodded. "And you, Jack, just don't re-injure your thumb and you'll be good to go." He took a breath. "And both of you, _please_ avoid disarming any bombs in the future. Leave that to the police."

I cracked a smile. "We'll try, Dr. Zia."

"Ahh, Topher, please."

"Well, thank you, Topher," Jack said, patting the doc on his back.

Suddenly and aggressively, a car horn blew behind us, making Jack jump.

"Blondie! Dalton! Let's go! I don't have all night!" Matty called from the car.

Topher winced. "Don't tell me…"

"That is our boss, and our ride." I said.

"Well, good luck. Maybe we'll see you around sometime?" Topher said.

Jack and I exchanged looks. "Well, If we're in San Antonio, and need an ER, we know where to go." I lied. It wasn't likely we'd be back, and if we needed medical attention, and somehow managed to be in San Antonio, we were on our own, unless it was a dire emergency.

"Blondie! Enough chit-chat! Let's go!"

"See you around, man." Jack said.

"I'll be seeing you," Topher said, and walked back inside.

When he was out of earshot, I muttered to Jack: "How long do you think until we get a new mission?"

"I'd give it 'til tomorrow," Jack said.

"We're screwed," I muttered.

"You're just getting that now?" Jack said, and we walked to Matty's car.

 **1,478. Pretty good, I'd say. If you're new, that's a word count. If you don't care, or you're not new, screw it.**

 **Really the thing I'm proud of is the way I wrote Jack. Agree or disagree? Do tell.**

 ***Flames will be used to light jack-o-lanterns, _ofrenda_ candles or other holiday-y celebratory candles. Also, you'll get a very angry, sarcastic, smart-ass, and extremely long response.**

 _ **Au revoir**_ **,**

 **Alex**


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